


Paris

by rainbowjaeger



Series: Gallyafest [5]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:51:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5721727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowjaeger/pseuds/rainbowjaeger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Napoleon takes the trio shopping. Fashion is a subjective topic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY I'm new to this fic writing stuff but I imagine it's confusing when I don't add tags like "pre-relationship" or "established relationship" so omfg I am so sorry about that. I'll add them from now on, and I've gone back to my other fics and fixed that too.
> 
> But for now, enjoy :^)

Gaby woke up facing the window and moved out of the way slightly so the light bleeding through the gap between the curtains wouldn’t be in her face. She immediately started to doze back off until she saw a figure walk towards the window and was pulled out of her limbo between asleep and awake as the figure pulled away the curtains and she was blinded by the bright light.

“Get dressed, Gabs.” After her eyes had adjusted to the light, she looked towards the voice and found a way too cheerful Napoleon.

She pulled the sheets over her head. “Why.” The way she phrased it, like a statement, not a question, made Solo take a step backwards.

“Peril and I decided we’d take you shopping.”

She poked her head out of the sheets and Solo gave a light shrug. “Okay, mostly my idea.”

“Don’t I have enough clothing?” Her voice was slightly muffled since her head was still partly under the blankets.

It’s not like she hated shopping. Sure, it wasn’t like her life behind the curtain at all, but it’s not like she’d particularly enjoyed that life, either.  
But today, she felt like sleeping in. She felt like that every day, but her partners would usually have none of it, both being up at at least 7 every damn morning. She wondered how they did it. The part where they didn’t drink themselves to sleep night after night probably helped.

“Our new mark has expensive taste.” They’d been briefed about their mark yesterday morning. Augustin Duval, a rich businessman. Only he did business in the wrong things (illegal weapons, suspected drug trade too, the usual), so he was to be stopped by the crew from U.N.C.L.E.

Gaby didn’t have anything against the whole plan, except for the part where she had to get close to him. She’d protested immediately, insisting she wasn’t fit to be the honeypot of the mission in the least. Illya had agreed wholeheartedly, which made her unsure if she should’ve been offended or not.

“I’m terribly sorry about this, Gaby, but since our mark is quite the playboy, this would be the easiest way to get to him,” Waverly explained and shot her a well-trained apologetic look. She knew he wasn’t really sorry, he just wanted the mission done as quickly as possible so he could ship them off to the next. They’d been a team for about half a year now and they haven’t gotten more than one week’s rest.  
Gaby wasn’t about to complain, though. Her partners didn’t seem to care and she guessed working non-stop for long periods of time was just a requirement of the job.

“Aren’t my clothes expensive enough?” Gaby objected. Solo and Illya rarely showed her price tags. The one time they did, Gaby put everything down as quickly as possible, claiming she could buy several cars with the dresses, skirts and other pieces they’d carefully picked out for her.

“Not exactly, no. Besides, I haven’t had a good discussion with Peril on the latest trends in a while.” Gaby watched him glance to the side and smile, and deduced Illya was probably close.

“Well, if that’s the case,” she sighed and stepped out of bed sluggishly. She went to the bathroom, locked the door behind her, undressed and stepped in the shower.

When she walked out of the bathroom, she wore only her underwear. Neither of her partners bat an eye, she could see through the open bedroom door. In the short time they’d been together, Gaby had acted as their dress-up doll and more often than not, they – especially Napoleon- would just step into the changing room without hesitation, ready to hand her another armful of dresses or to approve of or criticize what she was trying on.

While neither of them commented on her lack of clothes as she was picking out an outfit for the day (simple, something that’s easy to get in and out of), she did notice Illya was extra invested in the book he was currently reading today. She tried suppressing a smile. It didn’t work.

* * *

 

“What about the blue one?” Gaby asked, pointing at the blue A-line skirt Solo just passed in the store.

Illya looked at her like she was a naive child, and Solo made a face she couldn’t quite describe.

Solo lay a hand on the small of her back, and earned a look from Illya, which he quite easily avoided. “Gaby, dear,” he started. Already, Gaby wanted to punch him in the nose. “We went over this. Blue is not exactly your color.”

“But I like blue.” The overall she wore at the chop shop was blue. She had to admit to herself, while it wasn’t the most flattering of clothing items, it suited her.

Solo closed his eyes for a moment. He didn’t want to start this discussion again. He was here to piss off Illya, not Gaby.

“Fine,” Gaby spat and grabbed the outfit Solo had picked out for her out of his hands. She spotted a thankful look on his face, which was rare.

In the fitting room, she could hear her partners bicker on the other side of the store.

“Balenciaga dress is better,” a low, Russian-accented voice stated.

“While I do like Balenciaga, I’ll have to disagree this time.” There was a pause, and Gaby suspected Solo was inspecting the dress in question. “Looks rather cheap. The Chanel one is better.”

“I do not think you are in a position to say thing looks cheap, Cowboy.” The deadpan way Illya always managed to criticize Solo always made Gaby laugh. She couldn’t hold back a snort this time, too.

“Let’s ask Gaby, shall we?” Solo proposed.

“Since when do you trust her judgements in clothing?”

“Well, since we’re not planning on agreeing anytime soon, Peril, it seems like the best option.”

Illya grunted, which Gaby figured was his way of saying “yes”.

She heard footsteps approach her fitting room, which was getting quite cramped, looking at the amount of clothing piled up in the corners.

A knock. Must be Illya, since the concept of knocking doesn’t exist in Napoleon’s world.

“Give me both dresses,” Gaby cut to the chase. “I’ll try them both on.” She raised her hand above the top of the door, and was handed two dresses.

She tried on the Chanel first, which did fit, but was too… Napoleon for her tastes. She looked like the type of woman he always hit on. She didn’t like it.

She put her sense of slight disgust aside, though, and opened the fitting room door. Immediately, Napoleon nodded.

“I say we have a winner,” he announced triumphantly. He looked at Illya with the biggest smile on his face, but his Soviet friends didn’t share his opinion. As always.

“Did she try Balenciaga?” He asked Solo. “No. Hold your horses, Cowboy.”

Gaby rolled her eyes and closed the door again. It suddenly occurred to her that if Illya wanted, he could easily look down the door of fitting room, since it wasn’t very high. It didn’t give her any comfort.

She hastily tried on the other dress (which was a rich blue and fitted her far better than the previous one, with a tight bodice, scooped-out neck and long sleeves) and stepped out of the cramped space again, this time with disheveled hair due to wrestling with the dress because it wouldn’t get over her head properly.

Napoleon tutted disapprovingly and started to list the mistakes in the design of the dress. Gaby tuned him out before he even started and instead faced Illya.

His eyebrows were raised and his eyes widened just a bit, making him look slightly aghast. He clearly didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he put them behind his back. It took him a few seconds to recompose himself. “Is nice,” is all he said.

Gaby would’ve been disappointed with his answer if it wasn’t for the surprised look he just wore. She found it extremely endearing.

“I agree,” she said, more to shut up Napoleon than to actually agree with Illya. She smiled a knowing smile. “You can get back on your horse now, Cowboy.” She turned around, the dress swishing around her ankles, and closed the door to the fitting room.

That evening, when Gaby was chatting with the mark and Solo and Illya were listening through the bug hidden in her necklace, they heard Duval compliment her dress, how it fitted her well and how stunning she looked in it. Illya turned to face Napoleon, his face smug. Solo just shook his head.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years later, the trio returns to Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Gallya tag hasn't been updated in nearly a week and I am slowly crumbling so I've taken it on myself to update it :'^) 'tis for a good cause, let's say
> 
> There were supposed to be references to the previous chapter but I got lost along the way as usual.
> 
> Also there's totally going to be a cat chapter because the UNCLE trio and animals, I mean, come on now. I need it. We all need it.
> 
> (This chapter: established relationship)

He stood around the corner of the Parisian hotel, his scowl unintentionally scaring off everybody walking past. He saw several people eyeing him, concern and fear on their faces, but they didn’t register in his brain. The streets darkened in his eyes, and then got lighter again, until they would darken again seconds later. This continued on as his arms were crossed and his left index finger tapped against his right arm.

He’d lost himself again. It hadn’t happened in a while, and he was happy for it – he should’ve known happiness doesn’t last long in his life.

Gaby had convinced Napoleon to drink with her, and though she wasn’t even close to being drunk, Solo was far gone. Illya reasoned he’d decided to indulge since the past weeks have been tense.

They’d screwed up their previous two missions and this one had to go perfectly, or else they would get a call from Moscow and New York, respectively.

Really, it was a miracle the team was still together after two years. All three had guessed it wouldn’t last half a year, but here they were.

The mission would be a bust now, though, since Illya had thrown a table or two and trashed some other parts of their suite too. Solo had said something about his family, which he hadn’t done in about a year and a half, so it caught Illya off guard.

Gaby might have been able to calm him down, but she was in the shower and thus not able to do anything about the fight in the living room.

Thinking about Cowboy made his blood boil again, and he was about to lose it right there on the streets if it weren’t for a familiar face entering his peripheral vision and pulling him out of his reverie.

“-Okay? Please calm down, alright?” Gaby’s hair was still wet and she looked like she got here in a hurry. Her dress is full of folds and her jacket is clearly thrown on in a haste.

“I am calm,” he spat out and stopped his finger from tapping.

“You’re a terrible liar.” She shook her head and handed him a coat. “I brought you your jacket. Maybe we shouldn’t go back to that mess upstairs just yet.”

“I am not cold,” Illya protested, but contradicted himself when he grabbed the coat and put it on.

They started to walk in silence, Gaby’s arm wrapped around his. He could see his breath and realized how cold it actually was.

“This is my second time in Paris and I haven’t even seen the Eiffel Tower up close,” Gaby pouted. “You think it’s still open?”

It occurred to him how extraordinary it was that a few words and the mere presence of his small partner could calm him down so quickly. He looked down at her and smiled.

“We will see.”

* * *

 

The walk through the dimly-lit streets of Paris was silent though comfortable. Illya was completely calm by now, and silently thanked Gaby for it.

Suddenly, her hasty strides slowed down, and Illya saw her look down an alleyway.

Sensing he was about to ask what was wrong, she whispered, “A cat.”

She walked up to it and it barely shied away, so it couldn’t have been a stray. Illya couldn’t contain a smile as she started talking to it in a voice much higher-pitched than her usual speaking voice.

“It’s wearing a collar but it doesn’t have a name on it,” she called out to Illya, back to her normal voice again.

“Maybe it is out for the night. Best to leave it,” he reasoned. It wasn’t that he hated cats – it was the opposite. Maybe it was the fact that he looked ten meters tall to a cat, or maybe he just radiated something evil.

Instead, Gaby walked back out the alley with the cat in her arms. It was small, though it didn’t look like a kitten. She looked at Illya with a face that indicated that she’d made her decision, and Illya knew that once she had, nobody could change her mind, no matter how hard they tried.

Illya sighed in resignation. “At least put it down instead of carrying around.”

She did and when they started walking, the cat followed. Illya raised his brows and Gaby smiled.

“I’m a natural charmer,” she answered, looking a bit too smug.

* * *

 

The Eiffel Tower towered over the surrounding building, so it wasn’t hard to find. The walk wasn’t that long either so Gaby didn’t mind walking despite the cold.

To Gaby’s disappointment, they were just closing when they arrived, the cat still shadowing her steps.

“At least the lights are still on, I guess,” she said and sat down on the curb. The cat immediately jumped up on her lap, purring as she petted it.

Illya sat down next to her, his body hunched up in an awkward angle due to the low curb. He simply hummed in agreement.

“Then, tell me something about the Tower, mister architect.” She looked at him expectantly.

It’d been two years since their first mission, but Illya had to play the architect more than once, and Gaby learned this was because he actually did know a thing or two on the subject. The main issue was just that he often made up a story about the building being built by Russians instead.

“Do not tell me you do not know things about Eiffel Tower yourself.”

“I don’t,” she lied.

Illya sighed and began talking.  “Constructed in 1889 for that year’s World Fair by Gustave Eiffel. During second war, it was closed to the public by Germans. It was opened again after Allies took back France.”

“It wasn’t Russian-built?” Gaby asked offhandedly.

He ignored her. “It is 324 meters tall. I hope you are not afraid of heights if you want to catch a lift to the top.”

“I’m not.” It’s true and she’d proven it their last mission, where she had to jump from a five story tall building on the verge of collapsing, while testing her faith in Waverly’s promise of being on the ground with a net to catch her. He’d kept it, of course. If he hadn’t, Gaby presumed Waverly wouldn’t have made it far before Illya would’ve gotten to him, regardless if he had been his boss for the past two years.

During the same mission, her bugged ring had been thrown into the Donau.

“is just a ring,” Illya had reassured her, but she was dejected nonetheless. Even now, she was touching her ring-finger every now and then, still hoping that it would be there.

“I will get you new ring,” Illya announced suddenly. His gaze still fixed on the brightly lit tower.

“You don’t have to,” Gaby said, touching his arm so he’d look at her.

“I want to,” he simply answered. He looked at the cat and reached out to pet it, but retracted it quickly when it hissed at him.

Gaby laughed. “Maybe Nap would be a good name for it.” She continued to pet the cat, who’d gone back to purring.

“Nap?”

“Like Napoleon. Neither particularly likes you, and this cat looks like he has a suit on, so it fits.”

Illya examined the cat. It was true, the black and white spots made it look like it was wearing a suit.

“I am not sure if I can handle two Cowboys,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and prompts are much appreciated! You can leave them either in the comment section or on my TMFU blog gabytell.

**Author's Note:**

> Reminder that you're welcome to leave me prompts at my tumblr rainbowjaeger OR in the comments! (comments are always welcome by the way, even if you don't have a prompt)


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